Ave Satani
by Dagdoth Fliesh
Summary: They met in the rain, where time clouded and darkness slithered by, leaving one ageless and the other facing the boundless red of his tie. OcXAlucard
1. In the Rain

Hello, my pretties! An introduction is in order. This is an OC centric story and takes place shortly after Integra initially awakes Alucard from his sleep in the Hellsing dungeons. This basically means no Seras, Wild Geese, Heir Major, Doctor, the likes, nor Incognito and his misfits, although they may be mentioned in passing.

The theme song for this story is Ave Satani, which means 'Hail Satan' in Latin, and was the theme song for 'The Omen." It's very creepy sounding and appropriate for Alucard; this story goes great while listening to it! Throughout the story there will be ( ) brackets of which I use to provide corresponding information at the bottom of the story. Thanks for reading! -Youmi

* * Updated * * I went through and corrected some minor errors, but I also went through and changed the story a little. Acalia will no longer be "Acalia Harker" because I think it's too easy to write about a character that has a family past with Alucard. It's much more interesting this way, isn't it? XD So Acalia will now be Acalia Ashdown. I love that last name anyway XD Lucy will still be Lucy Westerna, but it will only be in reference to Dracula and not a major point of the story. Thanks!

Ave Satani

Introduction

The hour was a foreboding one. London seemed forever darkened by night and heavy rain that sheeted the narrow streets. Lightning flashed angrily in the distance while its thunderous roars shook the old brick buildings. London was flooded, but fortunately the old canals held more than enough of their share. From the church tops gargoyles perched precariously on their thrones, watching those who dared to wander the gray streets at such a dreary time. There were one or two people braving the harsh downpour under a black umbrella, others hurried into the sheltering warmth of a café. A lone, old, black Volkswagen splashed through an alley before turning out onto the main road and out of sight of the stone eyes.

I was one hurrying to get out of the rain, cursing my high heels and inability to run in straight lines. The cold rain drenched my clothes, causing my skirt to become heavy and clingy, and my patterned top to scrunch.

"Come on, Acalia!" a blonde haired woman called out to me from under the eves of a tall building, "You're so slow!" (1)

"I'm sorry Lucy!" I panted as I reached her. "These are awful running shoes! We wouldn't even be out here of hadn't you talked me into going!"

"You need to party a little, you spend too much time inside!" she replied with a click of her tongue. Lucy's strawberry hair shimmered dully in the street lights and the green glitter across her eyes made her cheeky look all the more mischievous. "Besides, I heard a lot of cute guys hang out at this club, maybe you can hook up with one of them!"

In the distance, there was the faint sound of trance playing over the splattering of rain, a twisting rhythm that seemed to match pace with my pounding heart. People disappeared down a dark and narrow alley, dressed much like Lucy and myself, their hair pulled into curls, many showing much more skin than I. A woman laughed as a dark haired man cornered her against the brick wall, his hands at her waist, his lips on her shoulder.

I blushed, "I don't think-"

"Don't think!" she laughed, looping her arm through mine. She was very strong for her size, and her pushiness startled me as with a great tug, I found myself before doors- past the couple and up the stairs.

Inside the club smelled of spice, cloves, slightly of smoke; the vinyl booths were comfortably warm, atmosphere stuffy but bearable. The water streaking down the windows was hypnotizing to watch, sad yet comforting, as all things of the night are. Pulsing lights caught on the small rivulets of water still going down my skin, a chill sensation compared to the warmth of the room. People swayed their bodies in time to the beat blare of techno as one massive pulse, while others laughed and drank their day away. It looked fun, but I'm not sure that I could handle this kind of party.

"Come on!" Lucy laughed, pulling me into the midst of the crowd. "It'll just be you and me, 'kay?"

"But I can't dance!" I cried out in horror. I balked, and tired for the eaves of the room where there was no dancing. However, Lucy was a woman who was hard denied and she already had my hands in a tight grasp.

"It's easy, just follow me," her voice sank into a purr as she swayed with the beat, pulling me along. She made it look so easy, the way the lights bounced off her hair and skin as she moved. I could only totter and my face flushed bright red. "Don't be so tense, this is supposed to be fun! What will all those cute guys think?"

Whatever they wanted, and there weren't that many cute guys here! I bit my lip and tried to follow Lucy as best I could, closing my eyes to ignore the others around us, opening my ears only to the music. The concrete flooring was hard underneath my heels, and a little stressing on my knees, just as the loud music was on my ears.

"Excuse me, ladies," a mans voice came, very light in tone. I cracked open my eyes to see again, and saw his light hair and dark brown orbs. He'd fixated that gaze between us, and addressed Lucy when we came to a stop. "Care to dance?"

I sent her a pleading look, but her hands slipped from my wrists. "Sure! Don't worry, Acacia, you'll be fine!" she laughed and let the man take her hand. It took them less than a second to disappear into the crowd, leaving one lone me on the dance floor not knowing how to dance.

She always did this, saying it'd be just us and then ran off with some guy; if I'm such bad company she can go by herself next time, that way I won't be a third wheel. I was a fool for thinking this time would be any different in the first place. My cheeks flushed and I made my way from the floor and to the next best option, the bar.

The one thing that was usual on party nights was that Lucy was absconded and I ended up somewhere else entirely. This time I thought the bar was very nice, the way the flashing lights caught off the beer bottles and reflected with abstract designs onto the ground. And the seats were as warm as they looked.

So I sat, and I ordered something stronger than my throat could take. Then I sulked when the liquor burned a hole in my throat and realized that I didn't have a life other than playing the violin. The bartender gave me a knowing look- although I'm sure he thought that my nonexistent boyfriend had broken up with me- and went back to wiping down the bar.

A few moments later I finished my drink and was now unsure of what I should do. The bartender took my glass when I declined a refill, and I slid to my feet. The trance still blared, loud enough that with every full breath of air, I could feel its vibration through my body. But still, even tipsy, I didn't have enough courage to make a fool of myself on the dance floor.

I made my way outside, knowing that Lucy wouldn't miss me until morning -she probably wouldn't even realize I was gone- intent on going home. So down the steps I went, crossing the dark alleyway. The couple had disappeared, but the rain was still sheeting the streets in a maddening mantra of water. I paused when I reached the exit and looked up at the clouds. The drops hit my face, heavy and chilled. Cold seeped through me, clenching around my heart with icicle talons.

There was an intangible pull.

The brick buildings drifted past me, my feet moving not towards the street but into deeper alleyways. I was lost in the sound of water pummeling downwards, in the sound of my heels on the cobblestone and the sound of stray cats caught in the wet. I was entranced at the look of rain under street lamps, the shimmering silhouettes created on the building faces. Quite suddenly, I noticed a figure standing there, cloaked in shadow and dripping rain. The surprise quickly faded, as if it was out of place, but like a moth I could not help myself from moving forwards, towards the man, my mind walking not in reality but in a dreamy haze. Deep within myself I knew it was not safe, I was telling myself, '_don't go over there, don't!'_

He reached his hand towards me as if to help me from a cab, pale and long nailed in the light of the lamp, pasty and yellow, like parchment that had sat in the sun for too long on a summers day. I could not see his face when I was within arms reach, and my hand settled lightly into his. My breath rushed out in a gasp, perhaps the last of my senses that came to me; his leathery hand was freezing, even in this weather, as if he had plunged it into an icebox and let it sit there for an entire day.

But my mind was blissfully blank as his hand brought me to him and his other arm, serpent like, twined about my thin waist.

"Good girl," his foul breath soothed my heart, his voice like nails. "You listen so well."

It was still for a moment cradled against his form, the rain battering against my goose bumped skin and through my clothes, a steady stream of water cascading from his light hair to my neck. His embrace was cold, and soon shivers wracked my small frame. I couldn't understand why this situation didn't frighten me.

The light flickered and went out, and now with surprising force, his hand came and ripped the collar of my shirt wide, exposing my neck.

'_I feel so cold,' _my mind seemed barely a whisper, tickles of fear starting to grow thick in my spine as his lips descended towards my bared throat. '_Why am I in this place?' _

"That's awful forward of you," a deep and lilting voice came through the rain, just as his chill mouth brushed my neck. The monster upon me stiffened and raised unnatural red eyes to glare through the storm at the interloper I couldn't see, his arms tightening like steel.

"What's it to you?" There was a loud click, the sound of a slide snapping into place as a firearm loaded, "Hey, what are you doing?"

"It's not proper to kiss a lady without permission."

I only heard the gun shot, but saw the splatter of blood and felt the impact through the demons frame above me. I was thrown like a rag, and then brick wall slammed into my back, against my head, choking my gasp as I fell to my knees. I felt nauseous, sick, my head swam. It was then I realized that the creature that had held me was missing an arm, all that was left was a sopping, bloodied, stump of a limb!

The demon snarled, but suddenly, a polymorphic form was upon him, its white glove pulled back, its clothes redder than blood. Every little detail of the gunman was etched into my mind. His dark hair without definite length, his glasses, flashing although there was no light. That deranged, blood curdling grin.

And then his gloved hand shoved through the others chest like a cork screw. Blood splattered over me, staining my light skirt with colors darker than black. It felt like an eternity, seeing that hand stretch out of the demons back, seeing the blood drip from the white leather glove without staining it. Then my attacker was gone, swirling with a hellish cry into dust.

The cold wet concrete grinding into my hands was nothing compared to the chill stare of those eyes of the gunman, staring right through me. Slowly his arm lowered, that lithe arm that I could have sworn just pierced a monster through, although the only evidence that remained was the stains upon my clothes. His cloak fluttered in the draft, his wide brimmed hat shielding his face from the rain, dripping endlessly into dark hair. I couldn't make out his features, just those glasses, red, orbs of ruby against a deep sea.

The gunman took a step towards me, even as he concealed his silver gun within his vest. I was too scared to even twitch a muscle. Then his shadow was over me. My body shook, cold and fatigued; my head throbbing from gin and hitting the wall, I found myself looking at his polished boots, slicked with water. Heavy hands fell on my shoulders as the gunman kneeled, and then his white glove touched my chin, turning my face again to his. I searched what I could see of his stoic expression earnestly, for something to tell me this was a nightmare.

His grip was strong, although light, and freezing on my already cold skin. Lips moved, showing unusually sharp teeth, but I was barely in the right mind to make out the words, "You're fortunate I was passing by. Another moment and you would have been vampire fodder."

His glasses obscured his pale face as he drew me to stand. My knees were weak, shaking, my delicate palms cut from the alleyway floor; I felt his heavy red traveling coat fall over my body, like a mantle, shielding me from the better part of the rain. It was hard enough to walk in heels, so I stumbled as the man lead, one heavy hand on my right shoulder, the other grasping my left wrist. The streets flew by, and within a moment, the tacky brass number 332 of my apartment door was before my nose, dull in the less than adequate hall lighting.

The door opened without anyone touching it, and my pale lips mumbled a faint, "You can come in," before he stepped over the threshold, still leading me with those white gloves. (2) We passed through the dark living room and its sparsely decorated interior, my violin stand and table layered with music, an old tea cup with a chipped brim; by the kitchen and its clean counters and sinks, spotless, because I rarely cooked grand meals. Finally, the bedroom where the man removed the jacket from my shoulders and his hat from his wild mess of hair. He set then on a nearby chair.

Trancelike, he eased me into laying on the bed, hovering over me as one giant shapeless shadow save for his glasses. He took a long moment to study me then, the dark ringlets of my wet locks, my cold skin, my pale blue eyes. He took my hands and turned them palm up, examining the multiple scrapes I could feel as one wholesome burn. His lips parted a little, and then he bent.

His cool, soft lips kissed the small wounds; his tongue lathering over the skin of my palms, first the right then the left as his unruly dark hair tickled my wrists. And the world which had been spinning so quickly up to that point came to a dead stop. My heart pounded in my chest, unable to comprehend _why_ his lips were on my skin, _why_ I was suddenly so aware that this was a _man_ sitting on my bed. Before that train of thought finished he raised his head to look me squarely in the eye.

His eyes were very red.

"Brave girl; go to sleep," he commanded and complimented at the same time. Immediately I could feel my weary eyes slipping shut, heavy, uncontrolled. But I didn't want to sleep, I didn't want to dream. I didn't want to think _this_ was a dream, I wanted to know it as the nightmare it was. "There is nothing for you here."

I fought it, something dark that invaded my mind, smothering my thoughts. I could see the man leaning in close to my face, see the bloodless skin and faint five hour shadow that went across his jaw.

_Just the whisper of his lips against mine before his breath was against my neck-_

"_Acalia_!" Lucy's loud voice rang out as her knuckles rapped against my door. "_Acalia, are you in there_?"

I jolted up, staring wildly around my apartment. My hand clutched my throat, where cold sweat beaded although the room was warm. Dim beams of sunlight broke through the curtains of my bedroom where the dust was thick and swirling - - as if someone had just past through it. It was late in the day.

I looked around, not quite sure if I had been dreaming or, no… it had to be a dream. Blinking and turning my head, I wet my lips and moved to stand, but my eyes had fixated on my skirt.

It was blotched with red, bloody red, blood.

"_Acalia, this isn't funny_!" Lucy's voice called again.

My palms were still scrapped. And as if to find the last piece of the puzzle, my eyes snapped to my computer chair.

There was no coat hanging there, nor red fedora. In place of those was a piece of parchment on the seat. I shot to my feet and snatched it up, eyes wide on the dark script.

_Take __**heed**__._

_For if thou presumeth to flirt with spirits,_

_Thou shalt __**join**__ them._

_(3)_

Thus concludes the prolog! Thank you for reading! Ah, I'm so mean to my dear Acalia.

(1) Acalia Ashdown: pronounced Ah-say-lee-ah. She's around twenty two years of age and is studying her music major. Her best friend is Lucy Westerna. If you've ever read Bram Stokers _Dracula_ you know the reference.

(2) I plan to keep constant with the rules of vampirism. This one is: a vampire cannot enter a home without the consent of the owner, but after such a pact is made may come and go freely at will.

(3) This pleasant little note is Alucard's greeting to Lieutenant Rip Van Winkle in Vol. 5 of the manga. And although it has a lot to do with the Lieutenants talk with Heir Major about Der Freischutz (an Opera play). I thought it was a nice ending touch to this chapter. (: In the words of Heir Major: "_At the end of the Opera Caspar ist taken to hell by the hunter demon king Zamiel… whom he had dallied vith, then Caspar's corpse ist cast into the volf's glen. For if thou presumeth to flirt with spirits thou shalt join them…. Take heed Lieutenant… Zamiel may just appear before you too_!"

I would very much love and appreciate reviews on this story! Tell me how you think it's going and possibly where! Thank you once again! -Youmi.


	2. The Haunting: Somewhere in Time

Hello again! I'm happy you're still reading. For this chapter I suggest listening to Beethoven's Symphony No. 6, a very beautiful and entrancing song to go with such a wily vampire. And thank you for all the reviews and favs! I appreciate your support, so you all get invisible internet cookies! :D

Meanwhile I've edited the earlier chapter, and have decided that I will not make Acalia part of the Harker family. If she were she'd be downright 100% Mary-Sue, and I honestly can't bring myself to besmirch that good name, lolol, or all the hard work I put into her character. You don't need to reread it, because you won't be missing anything. I just changed her surname to Ashdown. Enjoy!

In reply to my reviewers!

Alucardist: I'm happy to see that my writing is actually having an effect on your bodily functions XD

Eliza: I agree, once and awhile I'll check out one chapter stories, but I'm always afraid that they'll never continue if I like it. I try to go for stories that are already finished. This story is definitely headed the way you want it too, so I'll try to keep up the good work!

HarukaRulez: Perhaps not as soon as you would have liked but I updated, no? *sweat-drop*

Verdandi Iona: I'm happy it gives you interest XD

Jigoku Hana Tenshi: Unfortunate about that wait, harharhar.

NinjaAnbuGirl: Love is fickle! :D

XXFuyunoxMitsuki19Xx: I'm happy you enjoyed it most, oh reader!

* * *

Chapter 1

"I was so worried!" Lucy glowered at me, "I couldn't find you at the club!"

"I thought you went off with that guy," I murmured, pouring myself a cup of milk. "Usually you don't notice when I leave." The glass was cold against my fingers, warming as I carefully pressed my scrapped palms against it. Fortunately Lucy hadn't noticed the scratches, or I'd never hear the end of it.

She retorted, "He wasn't my type. What happened to you last night?" I shifted uncomfortably in my pajama pants.

I remembered going outside, being held in a monsters arms and then brought home by a dark creature I couldn't find words to describe. Instead of telling her all the details I left it at the most believable, "I caught a cab."

She huffed as I brought the drink to my lips, disbelief etched starkly across her expressive brow. Finally she gave in with a sigh and curled her fingers into her strawberry locks. "Well, how about you then? Did you find some guy to bring home?"

Feather like caresses on my lips, against my neck- the memory jumped in unbidden, flushing my face. I couldn't meet Lucy's eyes.

She stared, forgetting her less than desirable mood, "Bloody hell, you did, didn't you?"

"No," I choked out, setting the cup down. "It's not like that!" He was a… a bloody _vampire_ for _Christ's_ sake. All too clearly I could remember the sensation of his mouth on my palms, how he'd tended to the scrapes. I shuddered. But telling Lucy all of that would make her think I was crazy. I felt crazy enough. Vampires didn't exist.

"He's not here is he?" Lucy suspiciously looked towards my bedroom, expression next to scandalous. Her brow raised lecherously as she focused on me. "Tired out from a _romp_ in the sheets?"

My face burnt crimson, but I declined it firmly with a shake of my head.

"That's no fun!" she declared, "What's he like, this guy? Is he cute?"

"It's nothing! Really!" I shot back. A laugh erupted from my lips. "I don't even remember saying there was a guy!"

"You were blushing," she accused with a pout, eyeing me for any lies. "You're not going to answer me, are you?" I shook my head again and Lucy rose to her feet. "Well, I'm happy you're okay. Next time please phone me, I was so worried I could hardly _sleep_. By the way, _Mr._ Serway wanted me to tell you that your practice lesson has been bumped up to 4:30. I honestly don't know how you can play that violin so early in the morning, it's practically still night."

I smiled a little. "That's great," she waved her hand and stepped to the door. "See you, Lucy." The door closed, Lucy's heels made faint tapping sounds down the hallway.

My eyes strayed towards my room, where the note rested on my bed stand. I found myself standing next to it, running my eyes over the scroll before I consciously realized that I had walked across the room. The script was dark, elegant, its words a concise poem rather than the threat it should have been. Yet at the same time I remembered how his lips felt against my wrists and palms. My neck still tingled and I rubbed it absently.

I was becoming a loony, vampires couldn't exist! No, they _don't_ exist. Period. You'd think I was one of those underground cults with the way I was going on.

Shuddering I turned away, throwing a semi-dirty look at the chinaware sitting in the cupboard as if _it _was responsible for last nights events. I did the one thing I usually did when I was in a bad mood, I cleaned. I made sure dishes were in the sink and washed and found the broom and dustpan then swept out the dirt. I even contemplated about scrubbing the floor and cupboards down, but decided that the energy would be wasted, both had been cleaned not too long ago.

Plopping down on the couch I gave a great sigh, hand across my forehead. The lazy fan on the ceiling spun round and round, pushing cool waves of air over me and ruffling my dark hair. Behind my eyelids, I played out last nights events in a more dignified and realistic manner. The soaking rain, Lucy leaving me, near abduction by a pervert. Then a man who decided the best way to deal with trash was to _shoot_ them.

_Perfectly normal_.

"Should I call the police?" I groaned to myself, hiding my face from the light. It hadn't occurred to me, someone _had_ been shot. There was enough blood on my ruined clothes to prove it. But would the body even be there anymore? Was there a body?

As if in answer to my question, the phone rang loudly.

More than startled I scrambled to pull the receiver down. "Hello?" I fumbled with the cord, "Acalia Ashdown's residence."

"_Acalia_!" the timber belonged to a man, who I could only vaguely place in my mind before it clicked as my musical instructor - - it was not often I heard his voice on the phone. "_This is Dutch Serway, I wanted to make sure you knew about the schedule change for tomorrow, and ask if you have time to play tonight for a party at five. It'll just be a small group, yourself, a cello, a base, a few others."_

I worried my lip looking at the clock that read 3:36pm, vaguely dreading the night. "Lucy stopped by to tell me about tomorrow, but not about the small group. Where is it?" I hoped it was far, far away, so that I could decline. However, money was tight for me. All I could get the better. I knew I would be unable to say no. I bit my lip tight.

"_Half an hour outside London; I'm more than willing to give you a lift in the bus_."

"Yes…" I tried to say without sounding distant, "Could you pick me up on the corner of 5th and 6th?"

"Absolutely," his happy grin was palpable, or as palpable a pure blooded Brit could be. "I'll see you in half an hour, Ms. Ashdown."

At said time, I stood silently on the corner of 5th and 6th, violin case at my side and hiding from the stray drops of moody clouds. I'd tamed my dark hair back to the nape of my neck, and dressed in a formal black dress and dark overcoat. The lights of the bus came up the street and stopped before me with a slow creak from the tires.

Mr. Serway greeted me, "good to see you." He was a very young man to be conducting an orchestra, and unlike many conductors, he had an impressive physique. His bright eyes smiled, lightening the anxiety that had been picking at me since awaking.

I gave a smile and climbed aboard to join, of all people, Lucy, jabbering away with a flutist. She saw me and flushed awkwardly - - my gaining mood went down the drain.

"Acalia, I'm sorry I forgot to tell you about tonight, forgive me?" but she already knew she'd been caught red handed.

I sat tersely next to a window, eyes flashing outside, and holding my violin close in my lap. "If you wanted to play the lead, you could have just told me. I would have been more than willing to give it up."

"But, I-" her strawberry locks caught what light there was in the small bus cabin as it jerked into movement. At least she had the graces to look embarrassed. "-Acalia, I'm sorry."

I turned my eyes out the window and into the quickening rain, pointedly ignoring the strawberry haired, cut-throat, woman known as Lucy. I defiantly needed to take a better look at who I called friends.

As in the club, I passed a little time looking at the scenery of London, how the cramped city space slowly rolled out into prim streets and then into estate grounds. Small droplets of water formed on the glass, easing into rivulets as the gathering storm picked up power. Soon the noise of the drops against the metal ceiling was loud, and rivers of water flowed down the gently slopping roadway. If it was the one thing about the UK I would never like, it was the weather, even the bloody yanks across the pond(1) had better weather than us.

I shivered and pulled my overcoat more snug around my shoulders, trying to keep the cold at bay. The seat next to me shifted weight, and I turned to look into the amused eyes of Mr. Serway.

"There is a nip in the air isn't there?" he said, smoothing out his dark suit. "I heard we'll have snow soon."

I nodded slowly, "I'd rather see the sun. How much further is the estate?"

"Not far, I would imagine," he settled more comfortably into the seat, "we're playing a formal dinner for a charity ball. A more popular ensemble was to play, but something unfortunate happened and they were unable to make it. This morning I received a invitation to play in their stead and thought it would be best to have you with, you're our leading violinist, after all."

"I, I suppose," I agreed lamely, feeling slightly uncomfortable when Lucy's eyes bored into my skull. Mr. Serway's smile lightened it, and he laid a warm hand on my shoulder, adding a small squeeze.

"You're very talented, and I have to tell you over and over again: just relax."

Another nod, and he removed his hand. A warmth spread from my shoulders to my nose and toes, and I looked quickly back out into the bleak, dark afternoon to hide my flushed face. I smiled sadly at my ghostly reflection.

The building was well kept, an elegant estate where such charity events were often held by British royalty. The bus idled only momentarily before the gates before they slid open, the sound of iron folding against iron hard on the ears. One after one we disembarked into the courtyard. I thought it strange that no crickets chirped.

"Listen here," Mr. Serway said, standing at the front of the group, "we are to warm up, then within the hour we will be shown into the ballroom and play. I expect that we shall be here for the greater part of the night, so let us be the most professional that we can," his voice echoed down the hall, and a cool gust of air washed over my skin, chilling me.

His voice faded out, a drone in my ears as I along the interior. A John Bull lingered a few paces away from our group, old eyes calculating and surveying, dressed in a formal attire. Beyond him, from which the draft came, was nothing but a long entranceway, old in style, yet modern in taste. The shadows moved strangely along the walls, slithering forwards, twisting. My gut clenched, my mouth was dry. The shadow neared.

"Ms. Ashdown," I was pulled hesitantly away by Mr. Serway's voice, a hand on my sleeve. My eyes were wide on his smiling features, "this way."

"Y-Yes," I stuttered, taking a breath that had been missing and clutching my violin case tight. Before I followed him into a side lounge I took one more meandering glance down the long hall to find everything as it should be, the shadows still under their furniture and the butler waiting for me to follow after my companions.

I was quelled of my fears, for a while.

* * *

The ballroom was spotless, immaculately waxed tiles and a dusted chandelier. Windows led to doors, which led into a garden. But the room was empty. Silent. There were no patrons to play for. This was not all unusual, as we were expected to arrive slightly before the guests, to situate ourselves. What was unusual was that as soon as the last of our troupe had entered, the butler exited and curtly shut the doors of the room, no instructions as to where we were to place ourselves.

Most of the group lingered in confusion for a moment, an idle chatter between themselves as Serway took it upon himself to situate us. But the air was cold, each breath stale. My skin crawled and goose bumps danced upon my skin. I wet my lips and tried to calm my senses. '_Nothing' s wrong, so why do I feel so…?' _I was lightheaded.

Serway smiled at me, his pallid skin fresh and his dark hair smoothed back. His eyes were calm and his motions confident. I tried my best to smile back as he approached and touched lightly at my shoulder. "You seem flustered."

"I'm only weary," I lied, shaking my dazed wits. My body was hypersensitive; I realized my feet were aching from the heels I'd worn the night before, and the scrapes on my palms stung sharply against the wood of my violin's case. "Actually-" but I couldn't finish my sentence, to tell Mr. Serway what a strange aura accommodated the room as us. For at that moment, my legs buckled inwards. I swooned.

Mr. Serway startled and caught me, much to my embarrassment. My face flushed but I was not fit to complain as a someone else helped to right me. "I feel faint," I finished, using his arm for support.

"You're not well, this way, there's a bench."

I was stubborn at heart, I didn't want to lay down, but was made too. Next to me my violin lay unused on the tile.

"Really," I tried my best to convince, "I'm alright."

But my eyes were heavy, and my head drowsy. My strength drained from me like the ocean's low tide. The bench was cold underneath me, as if it was made to sap away my heat.

Before Serway could comment more, with a deafening rattle, the grand chandelier lost its power, and the secondary power shut off one by one with the generators. I heard Lucy scream.

My mind knew what this was but couldn't echo back to Lucy.

"_Sing birdies, sing_."

But my vision was distant, oh so distant. My body was in that room of horror, but my mind was detached, somewhere beyond, watching shadows rip my strawberry-blonde friend apart, limb from limb and her black blood rush forth; watching as the ground swallowed people whole; watching as Serway ran, wild eyed, for the door. A figure rose before him, slight and ghostly, whole yet hollow. It ripped Serway's head from its shoulders, and flung it nastily across the room where it hit the wall with a splat.

"_Sing little birds, sing,_ my _little birds_ in a _cage_," the robust male voice was unsatisfied…

I did not have time to wonder where it came from, before a long nailed finger, cold as ice, traced the curve of my damp cheek. The demon languidly smeared my tears before laughing hoarsely.

"Will you not sing for me, little bird?" His voice leered, his arms scooping my limp body from the bench. I could not see him in the dark, only the vast red of his eyes, pulling me deeper into this body-less feeling.

A palm pressed against my shoulder blades, pushing my chest against his as his other hand crushed my hand. My head rolled backwards in this joust and I could vaguely make out the chandelier, neither whole nor as new as I had thought it, but broken, pieces cracking under the demon's feet. This estate was nothing but a ruin.

"A dance then, if you will not sing, oh bird with broken wings."

The hand at my back burned, as if it were against skin and not two layers away; the hand clenching my hand lead me through a toneless dance, which only he could hear. Dress flaring in unending circles he spun us through, the Gomorrah and Sodom fell upon me. His breath smelt of blood and my limp slippered feet were dragged through endless puddles of red, bumping against bodies that interrupted the demon's steps.

I gagged, helplessly thrown in a wide circle before he pulled me close again and his lips pressed against my brow, before lowering to my cheeks to taste my tears.

"Are you not _happy_ my bird?" he questioned, he sounded nauseatingly sincere, as if he could not understand why I cried. "Do you want to sing now for me? Sing of forests and lakes, and our mountain villa?"

Suddenly, I fell to the ground, slayed into the pool of blood which saturated the floor. A hollow wind whistled through the broken windows as my scrapped palms jarred my senses back with a sharp pain.

My front was soaked, my pale skin dyed red. My wide eyes couldn't stop staring, for the life of me, into Lucy's disfigured face.

I screamed, scrambling back from her half skinned cheeks, where claws had gouged the muscle.

"This isn't real!" I babbled, but somehow actually speaking made it tangible, for everything was still so, so wrong! "Oh Gods, oh _God_!"

My back hit against knees. Panic swelled my chest, my heart hammering, a steam engine, although my mouth was dry. The eerie silence echoed loudly in my ears.

Those long nailed hands fell on my shoulders as he crouched, yet I couldn't force myself to move, to look at this demon that tormented me. One hand stroked my dark hair, squeezing the blood from the long locks as the other lithely pulled away my overcoat and dropped it carelessly on the broken tiles. His breath was at my ear, foul and cruel, and then his horrid lips pressed against the pulse at the nape of my neck.

I shuddered.

Then he whispered: "Sing, little bird, _sing_," but I couldn't scream over the tearing pain at my throat. My fingers curled into rubble and against his short, thin, hair. One of those horrid hands crushed my neck to his mouth as the other ripped at my dress to fondle me obscenely, sliding on blood slicked skin.

I hadn't tears left to give.

He drained me arduously, until my vision popped with little white lights, and I was too weak to fight against his aery hold. I could remember only his sickening voice in the darkness.

"_Sing, little bird, sing."_

And the taste of bitter blood in my mouth.

* * *

Ba-bump, ba-bump. Footsteps.

Each timed with each sluggish beat of my heart. Broken, my body screamed in an indolent pain for which there isn't words to describe. My vision was dark, blurred, a haze of shadows and nothings. Yet those footsteps announced someone or something, and I daren't close my eyes least I slip back into that nightmare.

Ba-bump, ba-bump. My heart, or the boots? It became faster, faster, and then altogether stopped. The decrepit double doors on the far side of the room blew open with a deafening explosion. Splinters of wood hit the ground and echoed blindly against the walls, ghostly sound for only the dead to hear.

The creature that stood there - I vaguely remembered him from once before - surveyed the gory scene around me as a singular figure. He was apart of it, and yet not; whole yet separate. His orange glasses flashed slowly over the blood, the bodies, the innards, and came to rest on me. The time that it took him to cross the room did not matter, because he stood over me then, monolithic, a tower. His red coat moved softly in the draft, and his thick black hair swayed in a life of its own beneath the antiquate fedora.

The pallid face was barely visible in the dark, or was it because my vision was dim? But his features were yet etched into my mind from that night in the rain.

"You again?" his voice was silk, accented thickly with blood lust and horrifying eagerness.

I realized then, as the hammer of his gun cocked back, drawn slowly by his thumb, that he aimed his pistol at me. The silver weapon somehow gleamed in the darkness with intent, the barrel hole aimed between my eyes. I had seen it once before. I knew once fired, my skull would be crushed and I would truly join the others on the ground.

Time was still for one long moment, as my heart, fluttering, weak, took one beat.

My throat was torn, I could not speak, had I tried. I do not know what I could have said in that moment, to make this ambivalent monster change his mind. Why save my life only to end it?

Mindlessly I raised my hand and futilely pushed the barrel from my face. He offered no resistance and yet-

His full lips pushed out, caught halfway between neutral and interest.

He kneeled, until his shadow was all consuming, until it was only those orange bifocals and me, and the hellfire behind them; until the only light in the dark was that gun, that silver barrel pressing to my skull with a pressure that meant death.

"Do you _want_ to die?" there was an odd conviction to his voice. He was the devil's advocate.

'_No_,' my mind answered with what little tears I had left, straining to get a grasp of the cold steel barrel. My fingers were stiff, fickle to weakness.

"You are dying," his finger was on the trigger; solid, immovable.

'_No.'_ My nails scrapped at the metal.

"And when you die, it will be worse than a mortal death: you will join the ranks of the undead, the unwilling _concubine_ of this _vampire_, his _slave_." With each word his voice became more cruel and forceful; each syllable more spiteful and fevered.

'_I wouldn't,' _my eyes were rolling, lost in the darkness that threatened to consume my mind - - that horrible death the gunman talked about. The gun resisted, and I resisted him. I gagged on tears and his cruel expression was not swayed.

I could not understand the difference between the night before and this; the strange seduction, perhaps only a trick, and the eminent death he presented now. But had I not listened to him? I sought none of this and yet I was soon to join the damned.

My hand was tight on that icy barrel. I was not going to die a feeble woman. Not like this. I may become everything he described, but not by my terms, _never_ not by my terms.

And then a strange sound. It shocked me so badly I did not realize the Casull had slipped from my fingers, receding into that darkness where only his eyes existed. He laughed. It was a soft laugh, filled with a strange nostalgia I could _never_ know. Too soft to exist in a place of death.

"You _humans_," the voice purred. "You never cease to surprise me in strange circumstances…"

My vision had almost completely gone when that lithe arm wove around my shoulders, and lifted me partially from the ground. Nestled in the crook of his arm, this time, felt unsafe.

"To think," said he darkly; it caught me with some surprise, to see he was not the same as before. His clothes were of oiled leather bonds, and his hair surrounded us, snake like, living. The gunman's blooded eyes stared freely into my broken form; they were the eyes of the devil himself. "That _history_ repeats in such odd ways."

And at that moment, I believed he talked of his past, and not mine. (3)

* * *

(1) Yanks across the pond: the pond being the Atlantic Ocean and Yanks being Americans. (:

(2) John Bull: Old Englishman.

(3) In reference to Mina Harker, who was bit and Abraham Van Hellsing came to her rescue. Alucard is just referencing the oddness of how now he's on the other side of the situation, and no longer the antagonist. (:


End file.
